


And Honey Wild

by voleuse



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:59:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She look'd at me as she did love, / And made sweet moan.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	And Honey Wild

**Author's Note:**

> AU after _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ S4, no spoilers. Title, summary, and headings taken from John Keats' _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_.

_i. what can ail thee_

The words spilling from Eodain's lips might be poetry, most likely are, and as Willow plunges her tongue, again and again, into Eodain, she wonders if the poem will ever be set to music.

It's been so long since she's heard music.

Around, over, and inside again, Willow measures the strokes of her tongue as if a lyre accompanied her, instead of just Eodain's soft mewls.

Willow wonders if her role will be recorded in the text, if her devotions will be whispered in verse, lit by bonfire, sweetened by a lover's desire.

Eodain's fingers wind into Willow's hair like snakes, and Willow clutches her thighs, slides a hand between Eodain's legs and pumps, using her mouth as skillfully as any of the sidhe.

Eodain shrieks as if she were _ban-sidhe_, and Willow startles back. She quickly recovers, however, and renews the steady rhythm of fingers and tongue until Eodain, sated, writhes on the pallet, overstimulated.

Willow draws back, head bowed, and smiles. "Are you pleased?" she murmurs, confident in the response.

Eodain sits up, reaches forward, and raises Willow's chin. "I am." Her eyes, almost tame, meet Willow's, and her lips purse. She releases her hold. "You may go."

Willow lowers her chin, an indication of thanks, and backs through the door until she is out of sight.

_ii. so woe-begone_

The forest is dark, and deep, and welcoming. It is close enough to embrace the palace, and Willow slips into it without a qualm. Even she, mortal, can enter it easily, and her ties to the _sidhe_ allow her to exit almost as easily.

Others of her status might traverse the woods as freely, but none before her have dared, aside from one, and he resides with the trees now.

Willow does not fear his fate. She fears nothing, save that she might miss her meeting time.

Even Eodain, with her power and her palace, cannot provide everything Willow desires.

As she travels deeper within the forest's boundaries, she pauses to peer upwards, through the thick veil of branches. The trees are older even than the _sidhe_, and legend tells that it was these trees which drew them to this land in the first place, away from their island across the sea.

Willow discounts the story as superstition, just as she ignores tales of sprawling cities, run by machines and mortals, still struggling against the forest's hold.

Eodain has taken her to the edge of the world's mouth, and she has stared down into the abyss and felt the draw of its power.

Anything other than that, Willow thinks, is a fable fit only to share with children before evening falls.

_iii. a fading rose fast withereth_

She's almost to her destination when a familiar crackle of undergrowth prompts her to freeze. Then, the accompanying growl, almost articulate, and she turns her head toward the source of the disturbance. Catching sight of pale skin, she then turns her entire body until she faces him.

The one other who dared to walk the forest path. Her predecessor.

Her half-mad predecessor, who now skulks in the forest clad only in his skin, snarling at trespassers like a caged wolf.

And she, of course, is the only mortal who dares walk the woods.

He skulks forward, not quite on all fours, but almost.

Willow eases a hand beneath her sash, withdraws a strip of dried meat, her traditional offering.

He tilts his head, regarding the food, then her.

She wills herself not to tremble.

_iv. a faery's child_

"That is kind of you."

The voice, though known, surprises Willow, and the meat falls from her hand to the ground.

Lightning-quick, he's snatched it from the dirt and retreated back, his skin gleaming like ivory in the shadows.

Aine, in counterpoint, steps into the dappled light in front of Willow. She, Willow has been told, was once human herself, and she could still be taken for mortal. Her skin is tan, darker than Willow's, even, and her eyes shine a warm brown. She looks frail, almost bony, and the smile that tweaks her lips is one that might grace any kitchen girl's face.

Her voice, however, is another story, and Willow shivers at the cool of it as Aine continues.

"He will never thank you for your kindness." Aine steps past Willow, steps far enough towards him that he retreats, his escape a quiet patter against the fallen leaves. "Why do you bother?"

"I can't not." Willow licks her lips, tastes Eodain on them. "He was like me, once."

Aine whirls at that, supernaturally quick, and Willow rocks back on her feet, her alarm tempered only by Aine's smile.

Something in Aine's gaze is too human, and Willow frowns. "How much like me was he?"

Aine answers her with a kiss, then another, and another, and Willow forgets her questions as they idle on the forest's floor.

_v. would she lean_

When Willow becomes aware of her surroundings again, she's surprised to find the trees have disappeared, and the ground is carpeted with soft grass instead of leaves. Instead of the rustle of branches, she hears the song of running water, and she turns her head to see a fountain.

Beside it stands a boulder, and Aine, who strokes the stone as she would a lover.

Willow sits up, draws her cloak up from the ground and around her shoulders. "Aine?"

"Yes?" She doesn't look away from the boulder.

"Where are we?" She stands, wondering where her dress has gone, clutching the cloak for modesty rather than warmth.

Aine looks at her then. Smiles, and there is nothing human about it.

Willow remembers other rumors, whispered under flickering torches, furtively. She tries not to look at the stone as she rephrases her question. "What is this place?"

Aine shrugs, a casual gesture that chills Willow's flesh.

"This is the other side."

Willow recalls the abyss Eodain once showed her. The appearance of its gaping mouth is said to have heralded the arrival of the _sidhe_.

She remembers the pleasure of Aine's body, she remembers the smell of soil and bark, but she does not remember any sort of fall.

Aine is suddenly before her, her gaze sharp as claws.

"What boon did you wish to ask of me?"

And then Willow remembers everything.

_vi. a garland for_

The Hellmouth had opened without warning.

It had been summer, typically dormant, creepy-crawly-wise, and with the Initiative newly closed, they had thought there was nothing to worry about.

Riley was still in whatever middle state that starts with "I" he lived in, so it had been a Scoobies night at the Bronze, with added Giles.

Willow had been dancing with Xander and Anya and Buffy on the floor, waving to Tara and Giles in between songs, which Tara claimed were too fast for her, and Giles complained were too loud for him.

The last song, the very last song, had been a favorite of theirs, and Xander had twirled her and twirled her until she staggered, breathless with giggles.

Then she caught sight of Tara's expression.

Complete and abject terror.

Then the rumble of a small earthquake, except it was longer and kept getting louder until Willow couldn't help but recall survivors' accounts of 1906.

Clutching her friends' arms, she had kept her eyes on Tara, seen Giles question her urgently as they ducked under their small table. Seen Giles grasp Tara's hands, seen them chant.

Because of her attention, Willow was the only one to see Giles turn to them, his eyes wide.

She was the only one to see him mouth out warning.

_Run_.

_vii. I love thee true_

Quick as that, she had woven a spell, the most complex she had ever done. She had managed to get herself, Buffy, Xander, and Anya out of the epicenter, to the edges of Sunnydale, where they had watched the Hellmouth erupt with greenery, spewing emerald until no trace of the town was left.

As they watched the forest grow outwards, rippling toward them, she turned to ask Giles what they should do. That's when she had realized that he wasn't there, and neither was Tara.

Her spell hadn't been big enough.

She almost collapsed, then, but Buffy caught her up, and they ran.

And ran, and ran, but it hadn't been fast enough, because the woods had overtaken them, making them trip over roots and fallen branches, slowing them until the _sidhe_ had caught up.

The mortals were put to service after that.

Aoibhill had taken Anya, and Xander as well, and Willow thinks they could have survived under her rule, given what was said about her.

Eodain had claimed Willow, of course, and, Willow realizes with a start, Oz, who must have been closer to Sunnydale than she had assumed.

Finbheara had taken Buffy, who wasn't a mere mortal, and it was Willow's struggles to stop him that had impelled Eodain to lighten--Willow can't think of another term for it--Willow's memory.

A broken spell, now, with a single sentence from Aine.

Willow blinks, and falls to her knees.

_viii. wild sad eyes_

"What boon would you ask of me?" Aine asks, and Willow jerks under her touch, for all its familiarity.

Willow gazes up at Aine, into the warmth of her eyes, and realizes why she had sought her out.

"You were mortal once. Human."

"Once." Aine nods, runs her hand through Willow's hair, drawing her up again. "Before."

Willow gulps. "What was your name?"

"My name?" Aine walks away, sits on the ledge of the fountain. "Winifred."

Willow repeats the name, feels it stutter on her tongue. "How?"

"How did I become one of the _sidhe_?" Aine shrugs. "I was...a scientist who played at magic." She trails a hand into the water, raises it to watch the droplets outline her palm. "I stepped into their realm by accident, years ago."

"And then?" Willow steps forward, draws close. "Why did they change you?"

Aine meets Willow's gaze directly, and that almost-humanity is gone. "I showed them the way out."

_ix. and there I dream'd_

Thinking of the last hours, Willow dares to lay her hands on Aine's. "Winifred--"

Aine's gaze narrows, and Willow pauses. Wills her mouth to banish its desert. "Aine, this place? You say it's the other side?"

"Yes."

"How did we get here?"

"Through the abyss." Aine pulls her hands away. "The way is open now."

"Is there any," Willow bites her lip, "is there any way we can change it back?"

Aine reaches forward, runs her thumb over Willow's lip, soothing the faint mark of her teeth. "No."

Willow thinks back through the haze of the past months. _Years? How long?_ She thinks of the mere rumors of human resistance, and the inexorable forest. She breathes deeply, and doesn't think of Tara, of Giles, of Oz.

Aine cups her face in her hands, bends forward to bestow a kiss on Willow's lips.

Willow tries to smile. "Is there any way we can help Buffy?"

"Buffy?" Aine kisses Willow again, then pushes the cloak off her shoulders, pushes her shoulders until they meet the ground again. "Who is she?"

"F-finbheara," Willow gasps as Aine's hands run down her body, her tongue following their path. "Finbheara took her."

Aine raises her head from Willow's hips to look at her with pity. "Then she is beyond help."

_x. pale warriors_

Aine's fingers delve between Willow's thighs, quick and light enough to make Willow tremble, no more.

Willow gathers fistfuls of grass in her hands, feels dirt edge under her nails, feels the wet heat of tears trickling out of her eyes, pooling around her nose, tracing her cheekbones.

_Buffy is beyond help_.

Aine slips a third finger into Willow, sets a rhythm that makes Willow's hips buck up, makes Willow grit her teeth to hold back her groans.

_Oz retreats into the shadows, a strip of meat in his hand, madness in his eyes._

Aine ducks her head, mouths circles on Willow's thighs, strong enough to leave marks.

_Xander and Anya are slaves._

She jabs her tongue against Willow's clit, twice again, until Willow gives in, takes Aine's head in her hands.

_Giles is gone._

Aine withdraws, eliciting a desperate wail from Willow, only to swing around, lower herself over Willow's mouth, demanding reciprocation. Willow lunges, buries her tongue inside Aine, using teeth and lips and tongue persuasively, and Aine returns the favor.

_Tara is gone._

Willow writhes atop her cloak, atop the grass, as her orgasm hits her, turns her head from Aine's body and screams in sorrow as much as pleasure. Aine continues her work until a second crest washes over Willow, and she's sobbing too much to realize that Aine has risen from the ground and perched on the fountain once more.

Willow finally comes to herself again, raises her head, feeling that something was left unfinished.

Aine braces her hands on the fountain's ledge and spreads her thighs wide.

Tears still staining her face, Willow obliges.

_xi. and no birds sing_

Eodain is waiting when Willow returns.

She frowns at the stains on Willow's clothing, on Willow's skin. "What mischief have you done?"

Willow doesn't care enough to lie. "I was with Aine."

Something like understanding, and amusement, flickers across Eodain's face. "Ah." She takes Willow's face in her hands, looks deep into her eyes.

The flicker of crimson in Eodain's eyes is familiar, and Willow cringes.

"I think, my dear," Eodain murmurs as something lances from her fingertips into Willow's mind, "that it's best you forget."

But by that time, Willow doesn't remember anything, anyway.


End file.
